


just stay afloat (and follow my lead)

by Anonymous



Series: lavender crowned anon's dream smp collection [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alexis | Quackity-centric, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Mental Breakdown, Platonic Relationships, Presumed Dead, Spoilers for December 16th Streams, Video Game Mechanics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28178127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: New L'Manburg was restored, and with its restoration came a new wave of problems. For Tubbo, a teenage president with no idea of what he should do and fear of doing something wrong, it was a lot to deal with.Luckily, Quackity was there to keep him above water.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: lavender crowned anon's dream smp collection [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984183
Comments: 6
Kudos: 106
Collections: Anonymous





	just stay afloat (and follow my lead)

It wasn't that Tubbo was a bad leader.

Well- kind of.

Tubbo was a sixteen year old who had been through far too much for his age and certainly didn't know enough to be in a major leadership position like president. That didn't make him a _bad_ one, per se.

But he clung to an ideal of peace that really wasn't possible, and he had to deal with a pre-existing political enemy breathing threats down their necks despite the fact that they were basically starting from scratch again. Worst of all, he gave into the demands of that foreign entity and exiled his best friend, going behind the cabinet's backs to do so and willingly forfeiting any dignity and scraps of power their damaged land still held.

But it was fine.

It was fine.

Because Quackity was the vice president now, and he was determined to help this nation prosper. Tubbo wanted their country to rise from the rubble of its past physically, putting it on wooden stilts over the crater, and Quackity would help it metaphorically rise to greater heights of power and respect. 

The only problem was that their power was stripped by the likes of Technoblade and Dream, menaces who are battle hardened and willing to shed blood just to get their way. Tubbo was young, and because of his unpleasant exposure to war, wanted to avoid it at all costs, but Quackity knew that for their nation to thrive, they would have to fight tooth and nail for it. There wasn't any power to be had for some scrappy, war-ridden land with a teenage president with those powerhouses at the top, so the only solution was to knock them down a peg or two. 

The Butcher Army was a plan Quackity had poured his heart and soul into. He wasn't exactly a fighter, but with hatred and spite running through his veins, he felt unstoppable. And in a way, he was - after all, as vice president, all he had to do was convince Tubbo to back his idea, and he was confident enough in his way with words not to worry about it. 

* * *

"Big Q?"

Quackity looked up from the last of his paperwork, smiling pleasantly at the sight of Tubbo peeking his head through the doorway with a vaguely pinched expression. "Yeah, what's up, man?"

The president hesitated, a slight grimace crossing over his face as he stepped into the room. "I know you've been working really hard on the army." He paused, hurrying over to take a seat on the spare chair opposite Quackity's seat. "And I know why we have to go against Technoblade and why we have the hit list, but I was just-" He huffed quietly, tugging at the sleeves of his suit. "I dunno. Do you really think an execution is necessary?"

Quackity's smile softened with something akin to sympathy, though admittedly, he had been expecting this conversation. "This is Technoblade we're talking about, Tubbo. Giving him a slap on the wrist won't teach him anything, it'll just show we're scared of him. Taking one of his lives will make more of an impact, even if it's temporary." He looks over Tubbo's pursed lips and guarded expression, before laying his hand out on his desk, palm up. Inviting. "I know you don't like the idea of it, but it's the best way to make sure nothing happens in the future. If Techno gets away with it, people may try and pull off more terrorist shit against us because they think we'll be complacent about it. We have to prove them wrong."

"Make an example." Tubbo murmured with unfocused eyes, just loud enough for him to hear, though he had a feeling it wasn't intended to be heard at all. He blinked, focusing on Quackity's offered hand. There was a beat of hesitation before he placed his hand in Quackity's, seeking the olive branch of comfort the other was offering. The duck hybrid shifted his wrist to hold it securely as Tubbo raised his voice. "I guess that makes sense, but shouldn't we have a trial, at least?"

Quackity let out a huff of laughter, leaning forward slightly. "If it was any other crime, I'd say yes, but Tubbo, he's a war criminal. Not only that, but everyone knows he did it! Everyone saw him spawn the Withers that furthered Manburg's destruction, and he's openly against us. It'd be a waste of time to take it to court when we know what the outcome will be. He's obviously guilty."

"Yeah but," Tubbo shifted in his seat, but his hand didn't move from his hold. "shouldn't we at least give him a chance to defend himself?"

Quackity's laugh was sharper this time, more of a bark than a huff, and though he leaned back, he didn't let go of his hand either. "Come on, think about it. What could Techno possibly say to defend himself? Having a reason for doing what he did doesn't change the fact he did it, and the execution is because of his actions. He has to face the consequences for them."

Tubbo slowly nodded along, eyes lingering on the desk, unseeing. There was a moment of silence, broken by the president's heavy sigh. "I heard he's retired, is all. If he's really turned a new leaf, I don't wanna ruin that by executing him."

Quackity clicked his tongue, thoughtful. "Tell you what - if he comes with us peacefully, we can ditch the execution idea and actually put him on trial, because that'll prove he's given up his violent ways." He paused, biting his lip as he rubbed his thumb over Tubbo's knuckles. "Otherwise… I'm sorry, Tubbo, but he's on the hit list for a reason. He's a threat. We've got to get rid of him, for New L'Manburg."

Tubbo closed his eyes, and as he exhaled, the tension seemed to seep from his shoulders. "For New L'Manburg." He repeated, squeezing Quackity's hand. Quackity just managed to return the gesture before Tubbo opened his eyes and pulled his hand away, standing up with a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds like a plan. If he can prove he's no longer a national threat, we can treat him like it."

"Don't get your hopes up." Quackity blurted out just as Tubbo began to leave, and he couldn't help it, because he knew damn well that Techno wasn't going to come with them peacefully in any scenario, retired or otherwise. 

And it seemed that they both knew that, really, because Tubbo glanced over his shoulder with a sad smile and growing determination in his eyes to substitute his resignation. 

"I wouldn't dare."

* * *

People wrongly believed that Quackity was envious of Tubbo's position. In reality, he wasn't envious at all. Tubbo was a president with good intentions, but he was also a child inexperienced with the intricacies of leadership. That was why, Quackity realised, he bent so easily to Dream's will and flowery words. Tubbo wasn't built for harsh leadership, for raw power.

He was a floundering duckling, and every little duckling needed a lead to follow. Luckily for him, Quackity was more than happy to be his mother drake, as it were, and guide him through his presidency. He had the political experience, after all, and he'd be damned before he let his duckling become a laughing stock. 

(Being the resident jokester was great until you actually wanted to be taken seriously in a political sphere.)

Besides, Tubbo seemed receptive to his input, especially since Tommy's exile. Quackity would just gently nudge him in the right direction, to make sure New L'Manburg flourished under his administration. There was nothing wrong with that!

* * *

The day of reckoning arrived, and admittedly, Quackity was thrilled.

Putting Phil under house arrest had been a necessary precaution. Firstly because he was in kahoots with Techno, which means letting him roam around could be dangerous for their cause, but mostly because he hadn't complied with their pseudo-requests, and that simply wouldn't do. As the people in charge, they had to be respected. It was as simple as that. 

He was glad Tubbo had made that decision. Proud of him, even. He was growing into his title as president more and more.

The actual scuffle with Techno was to be expected, but Quackity would admit he had panicked a little when he realised the pig hybrid was targeting Tubbo, a protective instinct kicking in as he heard him call for his help. The boy took some hefty hits before Fundy had gotten in the way, but Quackity hadn't noticed that, too busy jumping a fence and grasping desperately for an upper hand.

And it worked.

Riding Techno's beloved Carl, his diamond axe held close to the horse's neck and his expression steeled with promise, the infamous warrior finally complied to their demands. They tied his wrists together and led him back to New L'Manburg; a successful hunt that left Quackity feeling energised with anticipation the closer they got to their floating city. 

Techno's attempts at escape were useless, and Phil's mockery was pathetic when he had a monitor around his ankle. Quackity felt a strong sense of joy, of _justice_ , as he watched Tubbo lock Techno in an open roofed cage, and he leaned back to eye the anvil mechanism with a grin that was a tad too wide, flaring his wings out to balance his weight. 

He stepped down into the seating area once he called Tubbo up for his speech, the explanation for why Techno deserved this fate. Quackity sat down next to Ranboo, who looked a lot more nervous about the situation than he thought was deserved. Maybe it was because he was pretty much thrown head first into this plan that morning, with little to no explanation, but he was distracted by Tubbo's words before he could consider any worse alternatives. 

This time, he knew for certain that he was proud of Tubbo, speaking with such confidence and bravado with the satisfactory image of their defeated enemy behind him. His duckling's speech was perfect, with just enough exaggeration to still be true while keeping engagement that would otherwise be lost.

( _His lamb_ , a part of him whispers. That might be a better title, considering how the lighting of the moon peeking over the buildings behind him seemed to curl into a mimicry of ram horns on either side of his head.

But Quackity recoils in disgust at the notion, simply because lambs have a habit of being sacrificed, and he didn't spend all this time leading him just for Tubbo to die. No, his duckling would stay afloat, he would make sure of it.) 

Or at least, it sounded perfect, until Punz fell from the sky and all hell broke loose.

* * *

Quackity felt his second life slip through his fingers like sand, and though his moment in the void felt fleeting, he screeched profanities the entire time as the pain of his death flared before ebbing away. When he woke up again, half a day after his death, he was silent and much too aware of the new scar that stretched from just below his right cheekbone down to his chin, stretching over his mouth.

He didn't waste a single moment before calling that meeting, hate and fury and frustration simmering under the surface of his skin. He had known about Dream's weird involvement in everything for a while now - hell, he had told the green bastard directly to his face - but this was the first time he had solid evidence of what he knew to be true. 

Quackity couldn't help himself when he reached for Tubbo's shoulders, pleading with him to open his damn eyes and see the truth. _Dream wasn't a friend, Dream wasn't an ally, he was only being nice to have control over them - his duckling shouldn't stray from his lead and he definitely shouldn't follow Dream of all people instead_. For a horrible, furious moment, there was a crease in Tubbo's eyebrows that made him think he'd defend Dream, but instead, he relaxed under Quackity's grip and accepted that he was right.

Quackity stumbled back, and he tried to stay calm during their conversation, he really did, but with his rage and frustration and spite still fresh in his mind, maybe it was inevitable that he blew up. The propaganda he had decorated the hidden meeting room with just felt like salt in the wound now, and that was the final straw for him.

He rambled as he tore them down with his bare hands, pacing back and forth as his wings fluffed up angrily and opened and folded sporadically. Quackity shouted about the hitlist, their next target, the root of all power and the driving force behind all conflict, Dream, _Dream_ , **_Dream_ ** . He was vaguely aware of Tubbo trying to talk him down from his rage, but he was swept up by the fire in his veins as he stormed towards the entrance of the room, hands balled into fists and trembling with an excessive amount of energy for someone who just rose from the dead. He was sick of Techno, of _Dream_ , of **_Schlatt_ ** , of everyone else who walked around and flaunted power in front of his face while keeping it just out of his reach. Quackity still craved to be there with a blade at his throat when the unkillable Technoblade finally lost a life. He fucking _yearned_ for the day Dream was forced down from his godly pedestal, battered and beaten with his power swept out from under his feet, _finally_ getting a taste of his own rotten medicine. He wanted that retribution, that giddy sense of power over the most powerful, so _badly_ that he was more than willing to put his final life on the line if it made his dreams more likely to happen. He was going to complete that hit list, or **_die trying._ **

"I'm gonna _fucking_ get him, Tubbo, I'm gonna fucking kill him. That's what I'm gonna do!" 

"Okay! Okay, okay, okay. We need to make some kind of plan, okay?" The soft, insistent voice paired with its placating tone shook him out of his trance, made the sheet of red that settled over his vision recede slightly. Tubbo was right in front of him, holding up his hands and keeping them suspended just above Quackity's upper arms, as if hesitant to grab him during his fit of anger. The sternness in his expression was a thin veil for his blatant concern, and Quackity found himself taking a few deep breaths as his wings lowered and he untensed his muscles. 

It was all well and good for him to risk his final life in his reach for glory and revenge, but he had to think of the bigger picture. His duckling still needed him there to help guide him; he couldn't leave him to die alone, drowning in infested waters. 

Tubbo had the right idea. Going in guns ablazing clearly hadn't worked for them. They needed something sneakier - something more controlled, something that didn't involve outright fighting against skilled warriors, because good equipment meant nothing when pitted against experience and skill. 

Besides, it was Christmas! It was the perfect time for a celebration, a _festival_ of sorts.

And if the idea was recycled from a dictator, a tyrant? 

Well, at least they had better intentions.

* * *

Quackity wasn't sure why he decided to start his brainstorming in the caravan, but he was glad he did. 

He wasn't sure exactly what time it was when the outer door opened, but it was definitely past midnight. It was a dark navy canvas outside the windows, structures painted on in black, and he was sure the bright lights within the caravan spilled out like a beacon in the night. He furrowed his brows as he looked up, readjusting his beanie as the inside door creaked open and in shuffled Tubbo. 

The boy was still wearing the Butcher Army uniform, which was really just an apron splattered with red paint for intimidation's sake. His hair was ruffled, his skin looking worryingly pale under the artificial lights and even though his expression was schooled into neutrality, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. 

Obviously, those details set off some alarm bells in Quackity's head, and he immediately moved closer to him. Despite the brave face, Tubbo looked vaguely unsteady on his feet, and he wouldn't be able to catch him if he was halfway across the room. He stumbled on what to say for a moment, but he recovered quickly, speaking tentatively. "Hey, you good?"

Tubbo chuckled, low and hollow, and the sound only made his concern skyrocket. "I don't know."

"Tubbo, what happened?" Quackity asked firmly, brows pinched together as he tried to figure out the cause of his strange behaviour.

He didn't have to wait long for an answer. Tubbo huffed out another chuckle that was entirely fake, lacking any real emotion, and replied with monotone words. "Tommy's dead."

"What?"

Whatever Quackity was expecting, it hadn't been that. A hundred different thoughts overwhelmed him for a brief moment - _dead, he can't be dead, Tommy was too stubborn to die, he was the only one who stood up to Dream, that was it, it must have been Dream's fault, always having to involve himself in things that weren't his business -_ but he brushed them off in favour of focusing on Tubbo.

Jesus Christ. No wonder the kid looked like he was hanging on by a thread. 

"Are you sure?" Quackity asked before he jumped to conclusions too, reaching out for Tubbo's hands before hesitating and reaching higher to settle his hands on his upper arms. Tubbo was someone who appreciated comfort through physical contact, he knew that. "Did you see his body?"

Tubbo shook his head, taking a deep breath, his neutral expression giving way to hints of fearful sadness. "I went to visit Logstedshire, but when I got there, it was all- all, like, blown up. The house, Tommy's tent, everything! And I was confused, right, because why would it all be blown up? Tommy's aggressive but he wouldn't do that to his own property, especially if it's- if it's all he has." Tubbo paused to take a soft gasp of air, having been rushing his words out. "But then I saw this- this pillar of dirt or something and it was so fucking tall, Big Q, I almost couldn't see the top of it. A fall from even a quarter of that height would kill someone, let alone- Q- Q, I think he jumped."

Quackity's heart dropped to his feet.

The final word came out choked with a cry, and that must have been his breaking point, because Tubbo's face immediately crumbled as large tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. He ducked his head down, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth as he stumbled forwards, as if the content of his words had finally hit him. They probably had. 

Master of putting off his own emotions in favour of cheering others up as he was, Quackity didn't hesitate to leap into action. He moved his hands from Tubbo's upper arms so that he could wrap him in a hug instead, pulling him to his chest. Tubbo instantly latched onto him, reciprocating the hug and openly sobbing now that he moved his hand from his mouth. His knees buckled, and instead of resigning himself to supporting his weight, Quackity carefully slid them both down to the ground, leaning back against the wall of the caravan.

He didn't bother trying to continue asking about a body. If this pillar really was as tall as Tubbo said and lacked evidence of ladders or water puddles, then there was only one way down, and it didn't inspire much hope. Instead, Quackity cradled him close, running a hand through his hair as he hummed softly and muttered gentle comfort in his mother tongue, knowing full well that Tubbo wouldn't be able to translate it. 

"It's my fault." Tubbo gasped from where he was burying his face into shoulder, voice shaky and wet. Quackity winced - he had been worried the young president would start blaming himself for the death. "If I hadn't exiled him, he wouldn't have- wouldn't have-"

"Hey, hey, it's not your fault, okay?" Quackity hushed him before he could go down that spiral, wings stretching out and curling around Tubbo's shaking frame. "You made the decision you thought was best for the country, and you had no idea this would happen. Sure, you should have told us beforehand, but it's not like you wanted to exile Tommy, right?"

"Right." Tubbo mumbled with a sniff, but he was very clearly not convinced, so Quackity continued onwards. Grief was to be expected with something like this, and he didn't want the kid to suppress it, but he couldn't fall into dysfunction when he was the president. So the next best thing was turning that grief into a motivator.

"Dream's the one who got involved and gave us an ultimatum. Not to mention, he said he was checking up on Tommy, right?" He didn't try to filter the bitterness that leaked into his tone, pausing his stroking of Tubbo's hair and letting his hand just rest on top of his head. "Isn't it a little suspicious that this happened under Dream's watch? Either he wasn't checking on Tommy at all or he knew what was happening and didn't try to stop it. If you're going to blame anyone, blame him."

Tubbo was silent for a moment, aside from his wheezing breaths. "Dream- you're right." He whispered, his words laced with a bittersweet realisation. "He told me- he told me Tommy was doing well out there. If that was the truth, this wouldn't have…"

He trailed off, and for a moment, Quackity assumed he had gotten tired of the conversation. He was startled when, without any prior warning, Tubbo sat up, pulling away from his direct hold but not enough to escape the feathery cage of wings. He made direct eye contact with him, which allowed Quackity to see that while he still had tear tracks down his cheeks, his watery eyes held a blaze of rage that rarely surfaced. Even stranger, but something that made Quackity's chest warm, were the speckling of downy little brown feathers sprouting sporadically like freckles on his cheeks, similar to the small yellow feathers on Quackity's.

_His duckling, indeed._

"This festival plan has to be foolproof." Tubbo said, and while his voice still held tremors from his crying, there was no hesitation behind the words, only determination. "I'm not letting this fucker get away with this, not after everything he's put Tommy through."

"We can work together on it. We'll make sure everything goes to plan." Quackity replied reassuringly, cracking a smile as he took both of Tubbo's hands in his own. "You and me."

"You and me." Tubbo repeated in a mutter, before letting out a soft, croaky laugh. "If it doesn't, I don't know what I'll do. I'm so sad and so- so _pissed off_."

"Feeling's mutual." Quackity sighed, reaching a hand up to gently ruffle his hair. "But hey, we'll sort it out. First thing's first, how do you feel about a shower and then getting to bed? Can't have our president too sleep deprived, right?"

Tubbo snorted lightly and let Quackity help him to his feet, let him lead him home with a wing folded protectively around him.

Yes, things would be just fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> quackity stan here and reporting for duty
> 
> if you’re someone who keeps up with my fic collection, this if sort of a spiritual sequel to ‘mother drake (your duckling drowned)’. 
> 
> i just really like the dynamic between tubbo and quackity!! i also added a hint of a turned duckling tubbo au idea i had a while back with the feathery freckles :) in theory, if a hybrid imprints on someone with recessive hybrid or shapeshifter dna, then that someone has the possibility to become a visible hybrid too, so they can naturally integrate with flocks/herds/packs etc. 
> 
> i might write the actual au at some point - the universe is not exactly the same as canon, and the timeline starts just after the elections but diverts immediately after that - but idk!! i have a lot of fic ideas and not enough time or motivation


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